


« beat »

by Feekins



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Domestic, Gen, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Pre-Slash, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10099517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feekins/pseuds/Feekins
Summary: When Ed returns to his apartment after a long day's work, this is the LAST thing he expects to catch Oswald in the middle of.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled “In Which Feekins Is Exceedingly Gay For Cavity-Inducing Private Everyday Moments.” My second Nygmobblepot fanfic (also originally posted on my tumblr), which I completely blame on [this beautiful mv](https://youtu.be/ktousVb9sIk) and [the song it uses](https://youtu.be/W8fmOciEY8U). Takes place somewhere between the end of s2e9 and the beginning of s2e11. Enjoy, and please please please let me know what you think!

* * *

 

Oswald is finally on the mend. Over the course of the last few days, the mental and emotional wounds cutting deep into his psyche have been tended to as diligently as his many physical injuries. That being said, it’s still a constant uphill battle. He won’t be completely alright for a while. Ed knows this. He’s just glad he’s been able to help poor Mr. Penguin pull through the worst of his grief and despair. Perhaps it’s thanks to this support that Oswald’s physical strength is slowly returning. His appetite follows close behind, which partially explains the scene Ed’s just walked in on.

But it doesn’t make it any less surreal.

Ed freezes and his voice dies in his throat the moment he steps into his apartment. Across the room, various containers clink together as Oswald rummages through the fridge, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s no longer alone. To be fair, Ed isn’t normally home from work this early. It’s really a bit of a lucky break, a little voice in the back of his head points out. If he’d been back at his usual time, he’d have missed this rare chance to see the former kingpin utterly lost in his own little world, one which Ed can’t bring himself to distract him from. For now, he watches from the doorway, transfixed, silent as a shadow.

It isn’t a proper dance by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it’s more reminiscent of awkward not-quite-teenagers shyly hanging towards the back of a junior high formal. Still, there’s an odd sort of grace to it. Absorbed in his investigation of the fridge’s contents, Oswald absently pivots from side to side on his good leg. His head lolls sideways, and he looks all the more loose and free and nearly wistful - all words one wouldn’t normally use to describe the infamous Penguin. Then again, he doesn’t normally have his guard down like this.

A faint warmth blooms in Ed’s chest at the thought. He isn’t sure why.

It’s only when Oswald withdraws from the fridge that Ed catches the notes of a lilting, unfamiliar tune. The shorter male hums to himself, turning to hobble over to the half-made sandwich laying open on the counter a few feet away. Oswald’s expression is…oddly distant. Chilling blue eyes are half-lidded, almost unfocused. Despite his limp, there’s a subdued sort of whimsy to his step, to every move he makes. He’s softer, somehow, and Ed can’t stop staring.

Along the way, one of Oswald’s fingers taps out a beat only he knows against the side of the jar of banana peppers he’s retrieved from the fridge. He even starts half-mouthing lyrics, but his caretaker and friend can’t for the life of him make them out. At one point, Ed thinks he picks up the phrase “feel safe,“ but he’s still at a loss as to the identity of the song. Maybe it’s something he hasn’t heard before. Whatever it is, it sounds quite lovely. Almost as lovely as…..

His train of thought derails when Oswald takes the jar in both hands. Still humming to himself, still certain he’s the only person in the apartment, he gives the lid a good twist. He promptly hisses in pain, succeeding only in straining his bad shoulder, and yet he goes for a second try.

That’s all it takes for Ed to forget himself and move forward.

“Here, let me-!”

Oswald _squeaks._ His head snaps up, eyes blown wide. The surprised jolt that shoots through him is enough to prise the lid free and slop brine down his front. This, in turn, shocks him into dropping the jar - onto the counter, fortunately - with a loud, alarming clatter.

“O-Oh dear.”

Within moments, Ed’s crossed the room and fussing over a very put-out-looking Oswald with a handful of paper towels.

“I’m sorry, you-”

“No, no, it’s fine, I should probably-”

“Let me just-”

“Ed, it’s _okay!_ You-”

“I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked like you were enjoying yourself...quite a bit.”

Eyes suddenly lock, warm brown on cool blue. From this close - _too_ close, though neither notices it - Ed can see Oswald’s nose and cheeks and ears beginning to glow a faint pink. It complements his generous spattering of freckles. Oswald gapes up at Ed for a moment or two like a little fish. He then forcibly averts his gaze, chuckling sheepishly, “Did I?”

 _Indeed, you did,_ Ed wants to say, but something makes him bite his tongue, so he nods instead. By now, Oswald’s borrowed pajama shirt isn’t quite sopping anymore, but Ed’s not about to let him sit around in something damp (and vaguely pepper-scented) for the remainder of the evening. He gestures over to the bed even as the other man is already edging in that direction.

“I’ll finish cleaning up. Then you can tell me all about that song you were just dancing to while I change your bandages.”

Another embarrassed chuckle at the light teasing, then, “It’s nothing. I don’t even remember most of it.”

“Not even a line?”

Oswald frowns thoughtfully as he plops down on the bed. For the moment, Ed busies himself with re-capping the banana pepper jar. When he looks up again, his injured friend is shrugging one shoulder, his hands momentarily stalled in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt.

“All I remember is…something about colors. It’s silly. Forget about it.”

But Oswald has that faraway look in his eyes again, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. And Ed doesn’t _want_ to forget.

Not this.


End file.
